WHOOPS!!! There goes the Follower Arm

It was 1964 and I was a raw recruit about 5 weeks into the U. S. Army's Infantry basic training course. Aside from all the physical activity and training, the most important thing was the "M1" Garand Rifle. We were required to be able to dis-assemble it, clean it, oil it and re-assemble it as quickly and accurately as possible.
It was stressed that there nothing as important.

Every morning we would do our calisthenics, have breakfast and prepare for inspection of our barracks, our equipment, our rifle and ourselves. I was one man in a 42 man platoon. The platoon consisted of 4 squads, (3 rifle squads and 1 weapons squad) a Platoon leader, (2nd Lt Marquis de Sade) a platoon Sgt, (SSgt Earnest Kindness) a radio-telephone operator, a forward observer and a medic.

Each evening we would break-down, clean and oil our rifles, re-assemble them, straighten and clean our equipment, spit polish our boots and get ready for bed.

We were up at 6AM each day, got dressed and be at assembly in front of our barracks at 6:30. Then roll call, breakfast, and barracks inspection by Sgt. Kindness. We would then assemble outside for a uniform and rifle inspection by Lt. de Sade. At this time I would like to tell you a little about the assembling of the M1. There were many pieces that had to be put in their proper place inside the mechanism of the rifle. One of these pieces was the "Follower Arm". This item had to be put under another piece of the mechanism to hold it in place. If it was put over it instead, when you pulled back the bolt there could be a problem.

Back to the rifle inspection. We went outside and assembled for Lt. de Sade with Sgt Kindness trailing along with his little pad to take notes.Lt. de Sade would check the shine on the boots, check the uniform for deficiencies, make a few nasty comments which the Sgt would note and then order "INSPECTION ARMS". We would hold the rifle in the correct position, pull back the bolt and show the interior of the rifle to Lt. de Sade. He would then say things like "good" or "this is disgustingly filthy" "what the fuck did you clean this rifle with? Shit?" and so on with Sgt kindness making notes.

Well, I was next. "Very good shine, Verdi" "More starch in your fucking pants, Verdi." Then the dreaded "INSPECTION ARMS" So I dutifully pulled the bolt back and the "follower arm" went flying out hitting Lt. de Sade in the nose. I said "OOOOPS" He just stood there for a moment and said nothing. Then he said in a quiet tone, glaring at me "Verdi, find that fucking thing and get the fuck back to the barracks and do it right."

Suffice it to say, I always remembered where the "Follower Arm" went and made sure it always went there in the future. I did not get a weekend pass that week.

"To be Continued"

You have the wrong guy!!!

It was 1964 and I was on active duty with the 77th Infantry Division stationed in Fort Dix, New Jersey. I was a clerk-typist in a 6 month reserve basic training company and my primary responsibility was receiving a list each day from headquarters with orders to remove certain reservists from the 6 month reserve program and reassigning them to mobilization with their unit for an undetermined period. I was to type new orders for each of these individuals and find them so I could hand-deliver their new orders.

As you can see, I was not the most popular soldier on the base. Remember, 1964 we were escalating the war in Vietnam and everyone was subject to re-assignment, including myself. The first thing we guys did every morning was read the list of reserve units that were activated and pray we weren't on it.

One day, I prepared the list of re-assignment orders, got a jeep from the motor pool and set out to find the guys that I had to deliver the new orders to. Most of them knew if their unit was called up and weren't surprised when I gave them their new assignments. However, there was this one soldier, we'll call him John Smith, who said "This is not me. My unit has not been called up. You have the wrong guy." I explained to him that I'm sorry, but these orders came from headquarters and they check out. Your serial number is the same and so is your name. So he swore to me it had to be a mistake because this is not his unit on the orders. "They can't do this to me. I have a wife and two kids." Well, he was so convincing that I told him I would check it out with headquarters, and he should come to my office around noon at which time I will know if it really is an error.

I called headquarters the next morning and told them the story. They called me back after a couple of hours and sure enough, he was right. There was another soldier with a same name and they mixed up the orders. When John Smith came in at Noon I gave him the good news and gave him another order rescinding the first one and reassigning him to his proper unit. All the color came back to his face, he cracked a big smile and I thought he was going to kiss me. It's a good thing he didn't or I would have decked him. Any way, everyone was happy and we both had a laugh.

That's one of many of my military tales. More to come.

A Visit to Montreal

For a reason that I don't recall, one day in the mid-90's Eunice and I decided to vacation in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. We were very friendly with a couple, Alex and Betty, from a neighboring town. He was a psychiatrist and his wife was a well known local artist. They were from Montreal originally and that may be the reason we decided to go. When Alex and Betty found out we were planning on visiting Montreal they provided us with information on the places to see and the restaurants to frequent. They also asked us to go to the Jewish section of town and get a couple dozen bagels from a certain bakery which they hadn't had in years. That's probably why they encouraged us to go.

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Well we had a great time. There are many fantastic places to visit and we must have crammed as many of them as we could in two weeks. Museums, parks, plazas, the waterfront, the old city, Cirque de Soleil's headquarters, Notre Dame, 17th century buildings and the Botanic Gardens to name a few. We never even got to the Casino. A wonderful city. One of our favorite restaurants was the Cafe Stash. A great Polish restaurant where they had great Polish cooking and a fantastic selection of Vodka's which were served at room temperature. Absolutely delicious. We also had our favorite French restaurants because, after all, Montreal is a French city. It's the spoken language and English is used only as a secondary language. In fact the law requires that signs must be posted in French and English translation is permitted, but only as a smaller sub-title. They actually give summonses if this is not followed.

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Well, we went to the Jewish quarter and found the bakery that Alex told us about and the day we left we loaded up the car with his famous bagels. We also found a great kosher breakfast place which we would frequent quite often. And of course Schwartz's delicatessen.

Eunice, being brought up in a Kosher Jewish environment, remembered all those days when she was a child at her Grandmothers knee. The following is the way she expressed it.

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POEM

*******

The Magician

************.

It was magic when I saw him,

Magic, here in this foreign place

Midst the oui's and voila's.

******************************

His beard and hair were black

With curls that tumbled over his ears.

His high hat and long coat were black too.

He carried a prayer-book

Tightly within his hands.

I smiled at him

and remembered

The smell of freshly starched

clothes in the Synagogue,

the silent vigil of the earnest

bowing their heads in silent prayer.

**********************************

The borscht on the dining room table.

Rich, deep red, almost black.

Like red velvet, which tasted

sweet and pungent:

The sizzling of potato latkes in the

frying pan.

*****************************

The shimmering of Sabbath lights

in a darkened room,

Which would dim, then rally,

then fade in a wisp of gray smoke...

*********************************

As I watched the man scurry away,

he carried my childhood with him,

In fast footsteps that clattered

On cobblestones,

Past shadows of ornate

Trellises which framed cozy

homes where families gathered

for dinner,

and here midst the wine

and the pate's, there was

Black Magic.

*********************************************

Eunice Verdi - written in Montreal probably in the mid-90's

A STRANGE SATURDAY NIGHT

It was a warm July evening as we parked the car in a parking lot about a mile from the center of Provincetown. Two friends of ours, Annie and Larry, along with Eunice and I, had decided to spend the evening in town. As it was the middle of the tourist season this was the closest parking spot we could find so we started our little trek toward the main section of town where all the action was with the idea of having dinner, do a little shopping in the quaint stores and perhaps take in a comedy show with some female impersonators performing at a club and have a few drinks.

It was a beautiful night with a full moon and as we were strolling along we noticed that we were the only people walking along this street. Strange to say the least. It was then that we realized we had taken a path through the town cemetery. We could see the center of town and knew we were heading in the right direction so no big deal. It turns out that Annie, while being a very intelligent girl, being of Mexican descent, was a little fearful of graveyards. It was then that Larry and I decided to make some spooky noises and start seeing things floating in the air. At least this is what we told Annie. None of this bothered Eunice but Annie started to freak out a little so obviously Larry and I increased our haunting mode and we were all entertained and having a great time. That is, all except Annie, who was getting more nervous by the minute. She kept saying, "This is not funny. Stop it. This is the way those movies start." About that time we were just about through the cemetery and entering the area we were heading for, so we stopped before we frightened the poor girl out of her wits.

We then decided, as it was still early, we would look through the quaint little stores, but of course, we had to use the public facilities first. Annie gave Larry her stuff to hold while she went in and Larry and I finished and waited for the girls to come out which they did eventually. We then started to go into a few stores and look around. After about a half hour, we turned around to talk to the girls and noticed they were gone. So we figured they were in one of the shops looking around and we started to back-track checking the stores we had gone past. The girls were gone. Nowhere in sight. They had simply disappeared. Annie's words were coming true. "This is the way the movies start." After another half hour we decided to walk back to the car and start to drive around looking for them and, lo and behold, there they were, relaxing on the car, waiting for us.

So what happened? Well, it seems that Annie, noticing her purse was gone, made a beeline back to the ladies room, assuming she left it there. When the attendant told her that there was no handbag or purses found, Annie freaked out accusing the poor woman of stealing her bag and threatening to call the police. It was then that Eunice remembered that Annie had given Larry her purse to hold so she wouldn't leave it in the ladies room, so they decided to go back to the car and wait for us. By that time, as we hadn't eaten, we decided to drive a little way and find a restaurant with a parking lot and have dinner,a few drinks and a few laughs which we did.

It was an interesting evening, to say the least.

Cape Cod Bay

We had been going to Bermuda for a couple of weeks vacation, every year for a number of years, with an occasional trip to the Bahamas and Florida as Eunice loved the beaches. We also had been to Virginia Beach, Myrtle Beach and beaches along the Gulf of Mexico. Then one day someone said that we should try Cape Cod in Massachusetts as they had beaches that rivalled the best in the world and only a four hour drive. So we decided to give it a shot and we found some of the most spectacular beaches we had ever seen. We were hooked, so for many years thereafter, that's where we would go.

Eventually, we wound up at the very tip of the Cape in Provincetown, a very old whaling town in the 18th and 19th centuries with many of the original buildings intact. Absolutely delightful place. As I liked to paint and Eunice loved the beach and we both loved Art museums, which were plentiful there, it had everything we could have wanted. We also would occasionally trailer our small speedboat, and moor it in Pleasant Bay, because Eunice loved to water ski. Suffice it to say it became our favorite vacation spot. In addition, it was a gay community and as we loved to go to Greenwich Village a lot so it was a perfect place for us and our dogs who also loved the beach.

Amazing vacations, sometimes with friends and sometimes just the two of us. We used to stay at places right on the beach along Cape Cod Bay. We would get up early and walk along the beach at low tide where the water would recede for great distances and we could wander forever until the tide finally came back in. There will be many stories in the future about Cape but at this writing I want to introduce you to Eunice, my wife of 42 years, who was a wonderfully expressive poet. I will do this with a couple of her observations of the Bay which follow.

SEA WALK

The sea surrounds me,
white, then black shadows
flowing past me as I walk
through endless corridors...
and upon the sand
a dismembered jaw, with
teeth like porcelain arrows floating on
the waters edge.
drifting right... drifting left... drifting...
a past life searching... separated
from an ancient soul...
mighty bones, fearless eyes!
Warrior of the deep!
I can see you as you soar the ocean's floor.
And now you just lie upon the sand...
Drifting...
Your strength, the flowing tides...
Your greatness, the thoughts of
Man passing through the sea...

LOW TIDE

Sea don't leave.
Waves flowing toward the horizon.
Whom do you run to...
Silently, fading in the light...
Leaving your lost,
Your lonely,
Upon the cool gray sand,
waiting for the night...

Sea, don't leave them...
Abandoned...
Unprotected life, lying
Upon the beach...
For the sun will scorch their hearts
And the birds will pick their bones,
And the wind,
The unrelenting wind/
Will whirl endlessly through their souls...
Sea don't go...
For they'll die
waiting for you.
Waiting for the night...

July 18th, 1979 - Cape Cod

THE POEM

The years were flying by and for some reason Eunice and I were growing closer. Closer together than we had ever been. Our understanding of each other had reached its peak after 40 years of marriage. It was then that we both started to realize that we always loved each other even through the rocky times.

I was 62 and Eunice was 57. She had completely come out of her shell and she was happier than she had been since she was a child. Her poetry, which was almost always written in response to a death or expressions of loneliness had changed into expressions of hope. She was writing about Spring and rebirth. We now started to discuss our golden wedding anniversary and how we were going to celebrate it on that magic date of July 10th, 2010. We were both still young and in our prime and had no reason to think that would change. But it did.

In late August of 2001, Eunice was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer in her ear and neck. It was as if with all her personal tragedies and grief through the years finally gone and only sunshine and happiness ahead, life apparently did not want her to have these things. Through the next 10 months of operations, radiation, chemotherapy, pain and suffering she still remained upbeat to the end. Eunice had a way of reaching out to people and making them feel special. Everyone who came in contact with her, loved her and felt better for the experience. She was special.

At Eunice memorial service there were about 200 people in attendance yet I still received so many requests from people who couldn't make it that I had to set up another memorial where another 200 people came. If the measure of a person is what other people think of them then Eunice was a remarkable woman. She was amazing.

I am not a religious man nor am i a spiritual one. I consider myself to be logical and somewhat of a skeptic. Yet in the weeks after Eunice died, I was constantly examining and re-examining our life together. I knew there were things IO did that hurt her deeply and I wondered if she loved me. It was constantly on my mind and in my dreams.

One morning I awoke after dreaming this question. I arose and sat on the edge of the bed and there at my feet was a scrap of paper. I picked it up and it was a poem written in Eunice hand in which she answered my question. She did indeed love me as much as I loved her. I figured my dog, who slept at the foot of my bed and had a habit of picking up pieces of paper and dropping them, put it there. But considering it was one of Eunice works I had never read before, who knows.

I want to think Eunice put it there because it would have been something she would have done. Why do the people you love leave you before their time? It's a mystery of life that may never be answered. Then I realized she didn't really leave me because she is always with me insde and she will always be. I now know that the people you love can never die. So maybe that is the answer.

The poem. LOST YOUTH

Did I ever tell you I loved you...
It's been so long,
Time changes,
Rearranges;
We're not the same...
There is gray in your hair
and tears in your eyes
I've never seen before;
I'm not shy anymore
hanging on to your every breath...
Your every word...
When did we change...
Lost, is our dreams,
Lost is our youth of yesterday.

Eunice Verdi

The Eternal Optomist a Brooklyn Boy.: WALKING CHARLIE (continued)

The Eternal Optomist a Brooklyn Boy.: WALKING CHARLIE (continued): "If someone complained that wasn't possible and the game was rigged, I would take a baseball and show them how easy it was. Of course i was a little closer and would throw it from underneath so the hats would come off more often than not.

When it got really busy, and it did fairly often, I would stuff the dollar bills in two boxes underneath the dummies and once in a while some bills would magically wind up in MY pocket. It was at least enough to make all those hours worthwhile. As I mentioned the owner was a big, fat Italian named Ralph. He smoked the smelliest cigars, perspired like a pig and smelled so bad you had to stand downwind to survive his visits. The story goes that once he passed gas on a crowded bus killing 4 people and sending 12 to a local hospital. I heard he was a made man so I did what he told me.

At the end of the summer, he called me aside to tell me what a wonderful job I did and he was giving me a bonus. A bag of money. When I got home to see how much it was, it turned out to be a bag of pennies so I didn't feel so guilty anymore about the weekly bonuses that magically wound up in my pockets.

At least I learned the value of money that summer.

WALKING CHARLIE

I was 13 years old and living in Coney Island, Brooklyn, N. Y. It was the summer of 1951 and my mother felt I would be better off working and earning some money as things were tough.

We made a deal. She would find me a permanent summer job and we would split the money so that there would be enough for my kid brother, my mom andI, together with what she earned at the bekery where she worked, to make things a little more comfortable.

It sounded like a good idea as I already had two part-time jobs dlivering papers for the Brooklyn Eagle and delivering groceries for a local store. I could now give up one or both of these jobs.Unbeknownst to me my mom had already contracted me out to this big fat Italian guy named Ralph who owned a game concession called, of all things, Walking Charlie. My salary was $30.00 a week. It sounded good to me as I would be making more than the other two jobs combined. I was set for the summer, but little did I know that I had to work 7 days a week from 10AM until closing time with an hour off in between. Closing time was usually around midnite and 2AM on Fridays and Saturdays. I WAS JUST A LITTLE KID<>

Oh well, I had already accepted the job and quit the other 2 part-time jobs so I was stuck.

Walking Charlie consisted of two large turntables approximately 8' in diameter with 4 wooden men spaced evenly apart attached to each turntable. They each were dressed in old clothes and a hat that was snugly pulled down on top of their wooden heads. When I say snugly I mean snugly. The player then paid $1.00 for 6 baseballs and the object was to knock the hats off the dummies heads as they were spinning around. At least we didn't glue or nail the hats down so I guess it was fair.

Billy and Frank

Billy Nishizaka was one of my closest friends when we were growing up in Coney Island, Brooklyn, N. Y. As I recall we met at Mark Twain JHS when we were 12 or 13 years old.

We had many things in common and became fast friends instantly. We both loved to draw and play stickball. Billy's father owned Skeeball alleys on the boardwalk. When I was 15, Billy asked me if I wanted to work for his father in the family Skeeball business for the summer months and I said I would, so for the next couple of years until I graduated High School I did.

The Skeeball Alleys were a great place to work and also a great place to pick up girls. Either Billy or I would open the alleys at 10AM each day and there would be a fairly steady flow of players on Saturday and Sunday from the time we opened as the people used to come early to the beach and then wander around to the various food stands and amusements. Billy and I would be equipped with an apron to hold bills, coupons and various other necessities, including a slug soldered on to a wire stick which we could use in place of nickels so we could start the machines if they didn't work properly.I also used the slug thing to give free games to cute girls when no one was watching me.

Billy and I used to play each other when it was a quiet weekday. Billy always used to win but I was also very good after a while. On our lunch breaks we would go over to Nathan's for a hot dog and a soda or Shatzkin's for one of their famous fruit filled knishes. Yum. Billy also used to invite me to his house for an occasional dinner which his mother would prepare. A giant bowl of noodles filled with seafood. Shrimp, scallops, clams whitefish and the like would be put in the middle of a large dining room table and Billy's brothers and sisters, Billy his parents and me would dig in. Yum.When I wasn't eating there my other good friend Greg would invite to his house where his mother would prepare a Greek feast for Greg, his two sisters, his father and me. Wonderful Greek food and amazing company. Fantastic desserts as Greg's dad was a chocolatierre.

This sounds great, but even more so, considering I was very poor, living in a small apartment with my little brother being supported by only my mother who was out of work half the time. Boy was I lucky to have such friends. Sometimes things work out.

Back to the skeeball alleys. One beautiful summer day, a Tuesday I believe, it was dead. We hadn't seen a customer all morning so Billy says to me, "why don't we close up for a couple of hours, leave a note on the door that we'll be opening at 3, and go around the corner and play some stickball. Billy's older brother Jimmy used to come around and check the receipts and stuff so I said " What if Jimmy stops by while we're playing stickball? We'll be in a lot of trouble." So Billy says "Don't worry about it. He never stops by this early and we won't be that long." So I say"OK. you're the boss." and off we went. When we got back, guess who was there waiting for us. Jimmy. Boy did Billy get a tongue lashing. Suffice it to say, we never had any afternoon stickball games again.

Then one day, a group of girls stopped by the alleys and started to flirt with me. One of them was so beautiful I think I fell in love that minute. When they left, I took my break and followed her home and finally she gave me her name and number. Her name was Eunice and six years later on July 10th 1960, 50 years ago, we were married until she passed away 8 years ago.

That was some of the summer of my youth.

Frank Verdi - 8-6-10

HUMPBACKS

One hot and steamy mid-July day Eunice and I went on a whale watching cruise.It was something we had done many times before and always in the Atlantic Ocean in the whale feeding grounds off the tip of Provincetown, Cape Cod, Massachusetts. But this day was a day like no other.

As we left the harbor, the ocean breeze and occasional splashes of seawater was very invigorating and what one would expect doing a steady speed, cutting through the waves. It did not take long before we started to spot signs of whales at a distance and I then noticed Dolphins keeping pace with us and darting in and out of our wake. It appeared as if they were having a great time. We then started to slow down and the lookout shouted over the loudspeaker to look to our left. We would see the spouts of 2 or 3 humpback whales and the captain was going to try to get a closer look.

Then the spouts were gone, but the captain felt this would be a good spot to stop and sit and wait. So we did.As we sat, the air seemed to get thicker and change slowly, ever so slowly, in color. From a sparkling blue sea, it became a hazy orange to almost a reddish color and very, very still. Dead calm. Not a ripple. It seemed as though we were encased in a huge bubble and only the ship and the passengers were inside. Nothing else. Quiet

All of a sudden without any warning, a whale breached and crashed back into the ocean. Then another and another and then there were more and more and more. Magnificent Humpback whales. One after another they came. Breaching and crashing back into the ocean. Some with calves and some without, but all breaching. I had seen whales before and even fondled them, but I had never seen anything like this. I was not afraid. To the contrary, I felt it was one of the most wonderful and humbling experiences of my life. After a while they slowly began to stop and eventually some swam away and some relaxed a little and then disappeared.

I will not preach or judge others, but I will say this. We live in a world surrounded by living beings all very different from us and each other but all marvelous in their own right. Why do we kill them for any reason? I will say no more as this is a personal thing. As for this story, I had to share the experience. As I said when I started, this was a day like no other. A day like this I may never see again. But then again, you never know.

Frank Verdi - 8-5-2010